I love to write stories with characters that feel real enough to friend on Facebook, or slap across the face. I write to make you feel, think, and burn with the thrill that can only come from getting lost in the pages. I love to write unforgettable characters who wrestle with life's largest problems. My books may always end with a Happily Ever After, but there will always be drama on the way there.

I don’t really know who I am right now. I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve always been a good girl, and feeling like I never really had a choice doesn’t change that truth. My fingers are wrapped around a man’s hot, pulsing cock, and it’s right there in front of my lips. I wonder at my own actions. I wonder if I’ll cross that final few inches and lean forward to put part of him inside part of me. But I don’t wonder much. Mostly, there is only the need. The need to show him that he doesn’t control me. The need to show him that I’m not exactly what he’s presumed I am.But most of all there’s the burning, throbbing need between my legs. I part my knees. My inner thighs feel warm from the intense heat of my pussy. I want to raise my dress like I did on the dance floor, to slip my hand inside as I’ve done every night while thinking of this man. Instead I look up at him and see surprise. I see lust, and just how badly he wants me, as much as he feigns to be above it all. I lean forward. I let his cock glide across my tongue, starting at the tip. Then I wrap my lips around him, and he’s filling me completely, my inexperienced jaw unsure what to do with a presence inside that it can’t close around. Caspian is thick and long, his tip seeming to pulse, his hips involuntarily moving toward me. I’m not sure what to do. I’m not supposed to take it all in, am I? I’m so woefully unprepared. Until recently, I never even touched myself, let alone a man in his most indecent of places. I don’t watch porn like Jasmine. What would be the point? Desire has always felt like a curse. Lust always leads to an uncomfortable situation I’m unwilling to address. Until Caspian White entered my mind. So I pretend his cock is a popsicle. I want only to consume him. I want only to take him deeper, to do this better. I’m lost in a lust-filled haze. I have a disease, and he is the cure. I take it out. I run my hands up and down it while Caspian moans satisfyingly above me, shocked and humbled by my actions. He’s not so cool and calm and collected now. I run my tongue along the underside, from root to belled tip, stopping to flick my tongue beneath the head when he vents a deep sigh. The more I follow my instincts, the more I affect him. The more I become this other person my desire tell me to be, the more I’m in charge and he’s at my whim. I don’t want to stop. Not even a little. Behind me, the door is unlocked and anyone could enter, but for some strange reason that makes me hotter. I’m soaking my panties. I part my knees more as if something might fill my pussy the way Caspian’s filling my mouth, like his gift filled me last night when I came thinking of him on top of me. With Caspian’s cock between my wet lips, I roll my eyes up to look at his blue eyes meeting mine, and in them I see only greed. Him wanting to possess me. I wonder if I can make him come. I wonder what it would taste like if he did it in my mouth. I imagine it’s salty. I wonder if I could swallow. “Use your hand,” Caspian says in a low mumble. “Use your hand and your mouth to fuck me.” I put my right hand around the base of his cock — slick from my spit — and keep my lips wrapped around him, feeling like I never want to take them away. Then my head moves back and forth and back and forth, taking him in long, slow strokes. I grip him in my fist, firm but not too tight, and suck my breath while taking his length. The sounds are erotically wet. I’m so hot, a breeze might make me come.I use my other hand to lower a strap on my dress. My breast feels good in the air, as if it’s been yearning for freedom. I caress it, palming its small weight, rubbing the nipple against my palm. A line of saliva falls from my lips and lubricates the hand, making it slide, and my body electric. “You suck cock like a virgin.” He’s trying to insult me, but his eyes say he’s my slave. I move my hand to his stomach, finding it firm and taut. I push him backward, and he collides with the wall. His cock is still in my hand, and I’m still working it in slow strokes, but my mouth feels cool and empty. More than anything I want his hot length back inside me. So this time, to prove I’m not the priss he thinks I am, I devour him. Suck him with abandon. Watch his eyes while tonguing his shaft, my hand making him throb in response, channeling Jasmine, doing the worst of what I think she might do. My other hand reaches into his pants to fondle his balls. And then, too lost in the moment to do anything else, I use both hands to raise my dress, both hands to slip my panties lower as I rise up from a low kneel to a higher one. I keep his cock in my mouth. I keep my eyes on Caspian’s. Then my first hand returns to his shaft, now stroking him harder, warming my palm with friction, filling the room with wet sounds of abandon. I’ll show him what a virgin can do. I stroke faster. My saliva comes more freely, and I let it, feeling it pool around the hot cock between my lips, letting it spill out in long, gaudy ropes of spit. I lose the last of my reservations. I lick. I rub. I stroke and drool. My other hand slides down my front, across my sensitive breast, to the wetness between my legs. And the instant my fingers touch my clit, I practically collapse. I only want him more. I picture his cock erupting inside my mouth. I imagine the filthiest things. I picture it happening as I rub it with my hand, white eruptions shooting from the tip as my reward for a job well done. I feel like being a slut, for once. I feel like not caring. I want him to use one hand to hold my head where he wants it, using the other to stroke himself until he covers me as he wishes. But most of all I want him to empty himself in my mouth. Just thinking the words arouses me. It’s so filthy. It’s so wrong. So I pull him out then look up at him and say, “Come in my mouth.” He looks like he might say something in response. Something witty. Something stupid and arrogant and demeaning. But I don’t flinch, stroking him harder and faster. Then he meets my strokes with thrusts, and I look down, demure, obedient, biting my lip. Coy. “Oh my god, Aurora,” he says. I feel it about to happen. I wrap my lips around him again, hand working, and then my mouth is filled with liquid warmth. It goes on forever, and by the time he’s slowing to aftershocks I wonder if I might choke. But I won’t. With my hand on my pussy, I swallow, letting his seed slide down my throat, a tendril escaping from the corner of my lips. And then with my fingers on my clit, I come. All at once, my orgasm claims me.I feel his hardness. I feel the way I want to cry out in pleasure but can’t because he’s filled me. I taste him. I want all of him. For that fraction of a second, I want him inside me. I imagine no longer being a virgin, of feeling Caspian’s cock opening me up and making me whole. My orgasm is immense. I lose track of space and time. I ride the waves, waiting for it to end and hoping it never will. I can’t remember what’s happening, or how I got here. I know only euphoria. I look up at him, his cock slipping from my mouth, its tip bejeweled with a drop of pearlescent semen. And …